


It's just a job

by WhereTheRoadsMeet



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Tiff, Toronto International Film Festival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereTheRoadsMeet/pseuds/WhereTheRoadsMeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In honour of Benedict's Maroon short and the 2014 TIFF. A fluffy piece where the lead female is left vague enough to be all of us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's just a job

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only just starting to dabble in RPF, and still not entirely sure how I feel about it. But it seems like Benedict's voice simply won't allow me to procrastinate any longer.

10:30pm. You look tiredly up at the clock on the wall. You're well into hour thirteen of another very long day at the Toronto International Film Festival. 

You'd been ecstatic when the festival had asked if you'd be interested in 'helping out', however it appeared that helping out meant endless hours of handling media enquiries, processing schedule updates and ensuring that everyone who needed to be somewhere, got to where they were going. You were now regretting taking leave from your steady job with a law firm.

You look up from the screen as a shadow blocks the light flowing from the doorway. The very recognisable head of Benedict Cumberbatch, complete with auburn curls and cheeky grin is poking through the open door.

"Burning the midnight oil?"

"Not quite midnight, but yes. I like to clear everything up so I can start each day with a clean slate. Only way to cope with the madness." You smile as he nods knowingly.

There's a pause as he stands in the doorway surveying the neatly stacked piles of schedules, reports and newspapers.

You ask politely, "Did you need something Mr Cumberbatch?"

"Yes....No...actually....yes. Can you come with me?"

"I really want to...."

He's extended his hand and is making a beckoning motion. "Come on, it won't take long."

You rise from behind the desk and stretch your arms above your head, working out the cramps of too many hours at the keyboard before taking his hand. It's warm and engulfs yours as he leads you down the hallway and through the fire-escape door and then up three flights before pushing open the heavy door that simply says 'roof'.

"I'm sure this...."

"Shhh," he silences you with a finger to his lips and leads you onto the darkened bitumen of the rooftop. Arranged near the edge are several deck chairs. You can see the flickering light from the large screen that's been erected in the field opposite reflecting off the canvas.

Two heads peek around chairs. In the dim light you recognise Simon Pegg and Robert Downey Jnr.

"Look out Bob, Ben's brought a guest." Simon's Scottish burr is light and amused.

"Can't get good help. Send him for drinks, and he picks up strays." Robert raises his beer bottle and he and Simon share a toast in celebration of their jokes.

Ben leans down to you conspiratorially, "Don't take any notice of them. They're harmless, and if not, I'll throw them both off the roof."

"Big words from the man in the strawberry coloured shirt." Simon throws back.

Ben looks dramatically offended, "It's Maroon. I'll have you know it was...."

You're overwhelmed by giggles, and indulge in a slow golf clap for the men in the chairs. 

"I think we like her...do we like her Robert?"

"I think we do. Come, join our merry band of outlaws madame."

You take a few steps forward and Ben sets up an additional chair next to his.

"So, where did he find you? Just so we know where to send the condolences." Simon hands you a beer."

"I've been working in the admin department." You reply as politely as you can, surrounded by A-list celebrities. You're still not sure why you're here, but they seem welcoming, and the beer is refreshing after the long day.

"Ahhh," interjects Robert, "I thought I'd seen you around. You're the one all the PR crew are working with to ensure we don't fuck up our interviews, right?"

"Ummm, yes, I suppose that's as good a description as any. Why are you guys up here instead of down with the crowd?"

Ben answers, "I think you've answered your own question. Crowd.....What is it they say? A little is good, a lot can be painful."

Simon snorts, "Think you're talking about anal sex...but go on..keep digging Cumberbatch."

There's raucous and filthy laughter from the men, Ben blushes, but laughs along with them. "Watch your language Peg-leg, there's a lady present. She doesn't need to be exposed......."

Downey Jnr giggles endearingly, "He said exposed...."

Ben rolls his eyes at you, "Sorry about these two. I'll understand if you want to leave."

You laugh lightly, "No, it's fine. I think my upbringing has suitably armoured me against a bit of ribald humour."

Robert mutters to Simon, "Did she say balls?"

"RIBALD!" Ben says loudly, "It means vulgar...you illiterate yank."

Simon burst out laughing, "HE SAID YANK!" tears are running down the two men's faces with the laughter now and they're clutching their chests. You're struggling to hold in your own giggling too. It's good to see the three of them so at ease. Clearly comfortable with each other, there's a feeling of camaraderie on the quiet rooftop.

"So," you begin, "What exactly are you three doing up here."

Ben answers, the other two beyond words for the moment, "We're watching the movie. The view is great and..." he gestures with a flourish, "..no crowds."

"But you can't hear the sound." you query.

"It's The Karate Kid, you don't really need the sound. We know all the words."

"It's true, "Simon adds, having gathered enough breath to contribute, "Watch this...." he points to the screen.

The scene shows Pat Morita playing Mr Miyagi schooling the young karate kid how to move by applying wax to his old car. It's a famous scene that the whole world knows.

Robert adopts a truly awful Japanese accent and begins, "Young padawan, you must apply the wax like you massage the breast of a beeeaauuuutiful woman."

"I really don't think that's the line." You mumble as you laugh. 

The three men on the roof top mime making a circle with their right hand, then their left. synchronised beautifully.

"First the right...." Simon says in an equally horrible accent.

"Then the left..." Ben's joined in.

"First the right....." from Simon.

"Then the left..." from Ben.

It's the beginning of an hour of hysterical ad-libbing from the three actors, often with them acting out scenes in front of you, demanding applause at key moments. You're happy to oblige, and you're rewarded with theatrical bows.

At the half way point, Simon and Robert announce they're going to get the drinks that 'Cumberbatch forget to bring back'.

Once they're gone, the mood settles a little and you find the silence both welcome and a little awkward.

"Thanks for bringing me up here, there really wasn't any need."

"Don't be ridiculous. I've seen you working your arse off over the past three days and my team have had nothing but praise for you. You've made quite an impression, on them and....on me"

You blush. You hadn't thought anyone had noticed the effort or the long hours. To think that Benedict's team had not only appreciated it, but brought it to his attention was humbling, "Thanks...I'm really only doing what needs to be done."

"But it's the way you've been doing it. You have the right touch to manage multiple egos all competing for attention, and without ruffling feathers. That's a gift. One I admire." He's standing in front of you, leaning back easily on the railing.

You're lost for words, you'd never expected such praise, and from an actor you've long admired...OK fantasised about...leaves you dumb-struck.

"I'd like to offer you a job after TIFF. Come and work for me, join my team."

You open and close your mouth, processing his words. A job offer...from Benedict Cumberbatch. It was a dream come true, with a fairly significant flaw. You wince. He notices.

"Problem."

"It's.....I'm flattered Mr Cumberbatch, terribly flattered."

"But there's a problem, I can hear it in your voice. Please, let's work through it."

You'd rather keep your reasons to yourself, but he won't be dissuaded. At your age, you should be well past childish crushes, but Benedict's work, his personality and his bearing make him a difficult man to ignore and for months you've avidly followed his career with something bordering on unhealthy obsession. You've been putting on a good act all night when in reality, you really just want to collapse in a puddle at his feet.

He steps toward you and kneels at the side of your deck chair, places a gentle hand on your arm and says gently, ".....Please."

You sigh and raise your eyes to the heavens, hoping that perhaps the universe will take pity on you and swallow you up, but it's not to be, "Oh hell. Alright..alright...." You straighten your shoulders and try and look professional, "I can't work for you. I have a rule...a solid rule...unbreakable..," You're on the verge of babbling, "I don't work for anyone I....." You take a deep breath, "...that I fancy."

There, it's out. Now he'll see you for the starstruck idiot you are and move on. You can go back to the office, submerge yourself in paperwork and go back to your tiny little life. Why is he looking at me like that?

Ben has the good breeding to hide his immediate reaction. All that's showing is a slight tightness in the mouth and a slow blinking of his eyes. He hasn't stepped away.....he hasn't moved at all.

"Oh..." he says simply, "Well, that's.....honest." He nods decisively, "I like honesty. I....." his brow furrows, "...Oh." 

Your conversation is interrupted by Simon and Robert returning with drinks. They are laden down with a couple of bottles of wine, a six-pack of local beer and a couple of girly drinks that they bought 'just in case', which you wrinkle your lip at.

"Where are we at Batch?" Robert asks, peering down at the screen.

"Umm," he glances over his shoulder, "getting to the big fight scene." Without another word, he moves back to his deck-chair, next to yours.

"Ahhhh, nobody talks about Fight Club." Simon summarises with yet another wrong film association.

Simon and Robert get back into the movie, but the light humour of the evening is broken and although not privy to the details, it's clear to them both that something has taken place while they were away and equally clear that neither of you want to discuss it.

"No Mr Bond...I expect you to die!" Robert shouts as the karate kid confronts his nemesis in the ring."

"You cannot harm me, my wings are like a shield of steel." Adds Simon as the karate kid balances on one foot.

You can feel tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. You feel like an idiot. You've been handed a golden opportunity to change your life and you've thrown it away like a love-struck child. You wrack your brain for ways you could have handled it better.

Lost in your thoughts, you flinch as you feel a gentle hand on your arm again. Looking up, you notice that Ben is again kneeling beside your chair. His friends are lost in their own world of alcohol and ban movie puns and Ben motions you to stay silent with gesture.

He leans in close, his deep voice pitched for your ears only, "Look, sorry about before, you caught me off-guard. I handled that badly."

You shake your head, hoping the sparkle of your tears are lost in the gloom and murmur back. "No, it's fine. What I said was completely inappropriate. I'm sure you're fed up with women saying they fancy you."

"They don't tell me as often as you'd think. Apparently I come across as 'unobtainable'."

"Well, on behalf of the 'smart' half of the population....I'll say it for them, since I'm already knee deep and sinking fast....." You look into his eyes, twinkling with the reflected light of the distant screen, "...you....are amazing." 

You can see him blush, even in the dim light, and he drops his eyes for a moment before clearing his throat and looking back up. There's a tension in his voice that wasn't there before, and you'd swear his breathing was more laboured.

"Why don't more women understand how incredibly hot it is when they make the first move." He huffs.

"I suppose, like guys, we're afraid of being knocked back. Whereas I have nothing to lose by not telling you...I don't stand a chance."

He leans in and whispers low and rough against your ear, "Oh, I wouldn't say that..I wouldn't say that at all."

You shiver, you can't help it. When he turns his head and places a gentle kiss against your neck the shiver escalates to a gasp and you move a hand to his shoulder.

You startle as a Scottish voice says clearly over the shoulder not currently occupied by Benedict's ginger curls, "Kiss her, you git.....or we will."

He tilts his head slightly and murmurs, "Excuse me for a second," and then he looks up at your two voyeurs.

"Guys...You know I love you both but can you....sort of.....Fuck off?"

"Fucking off sir.....fucking off right now. Come Mr Pegg....our services appear to be no longer required."

With smirks, and a chuckled "Get on in there boy!" the two inebriated stars depart the rooftop leaving you and Benedict alone.

"Where were we?" He asks, tangling fingers into your hair and pulling your face toward his.

"I believe," You reply as you cup a hand around his sensual neck, "That I was telling you how much I'd like to wake up in your bed tomorrow."

He laughs and kisses you quickly.

"Too forward?" you ask.

"Just forward enough," he whispers roughly as he pulls you back to him again.


End file.
